The Deadly Sting
by Lily St. Cyr
Summary: Brad becomes a junkie and wastes his life. Rated R for subject matter. Please R&R, and if you did before, do it again.
1. I'm a Wild and a Deadly Thing

/A/N/ My disclaimer is in my bio, and this takes place in Denton, NY, even though that may not be the Denton in the movie. It works better that way. If you want to know why I know so much about drugs, I read Kurt Cobain's biography. /  
  
Brad kept his eyes on the ground, he couldn't bear to risk glancing at the door, the portal of all things bad in his life. It had brought him into Frank's life, and took Janet out of his. That slut, he thought bitterly, his lips pursed, his eyes threatening to pull up to the door. Grasping his forehead, he massaged his temples. He had to get away from that damned door.. but any minute Janet could come back, even though he didn't want her all that much. It wasn't he didn't love her, he just didn't love what she had become. A malious shell of a woman, sleeping with anyone but Brad. He sighed, thinking of the sad truth, although he knew he was little better than her. His chassis, which had began to deteriorate with his worrying, shook with the sobs he wished he could stifle. He could only imagine how ridiculous he looked as he fell to the ground, heaving with his painful sobs.  
  
  
  
Brad thought of that day in late November, only slightly less than a year ago. Riff Raff.. Magenta.. Columbia.. Eddie.. Rocky.. Columbia.. and Dr. Frank N. Furter the sweet transvestite. He only wished he could have that much passion.. may be then Janet wouldn't have turned to so many other lovers before she left him.. maybe then I would have his fairy tail ending. Life wasn't fair.. he had learned that at a young age, but he assumed at least we would all turn out happy in the end, even if not very. His skin was pulled over frail bones, and he wondered, how could he still have blood pumping under his thin skin.. he wished he could have tangible proof.. but using razors... too messy, and he pitied the one who would find his body, months later. He wanted proof that wouldn't kill him.  
  
!---------------!  
  
  
  
The streets of Denton were not exactly the best place to find junkies, dealing their junk to others. The system that will ultimately caused a spiral of demise. Brad knew this, so he set out for another destination, New York, New York. Although it was late, I would be back before the sun rose, it was only a two hour drive. He hardly paid attention to the highways, or speed limits, his mind dabbling on other thing. Much to his luck, but more to the luck of other drivers, the road was nearly deserted. His mousey brown hair hung over his eyes, and made him more attractive. He didn't wear his thick rimmed glasses, but still saw the road clearly enough to make his way along. His hands gasped the steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were like ivory mountains. Wide eyed he cruised along, hardly glancing at the road signs as he passed.  
  
New York's bright lights dazzled Brad, his eyes sore from the mind numbing neon colour. Clubs, bars, shops, hotels, it was a lot for this small town boy from Denton. He parked his car in a parking lot not far from the glitz and glamour of the down town streets. Then he spotted a dealer.  
  
Shootin' up junk, he was a low down cheap little punk, taking everyone for a ride. The words of one of the many songs, from last November spun around in his head, filling him with guilt as he paraded down the streets of the Big Apple. He was high, and now traveling with a small group of junkies, looking for fun. Even without looking at his watch, he knew he wouldn't be home before sunrise. Not if he could help it. Laughing, as one of the woman he was conversing with flashed a car, making them honk their horns. This is what Brad had been missing all his life.. a night life. Already he had had more fun than he had any other time in his life. He was almost able to forget Janet, but she was a dark storm cloud, hanging above his conscious, showering thoughts on him every time he thought the storm was over.  
  
  
  
!----------------!  
  
When Brad awoke the next morning, he wasn't sure who's apartment he was in, but his partners in come the former night, were already awake, shooting up once more. He yawned, stretching, despite the ache in his arm, were a bruise had formed. So there was blood in him after all, at least it would come in handy once it was pumped with his new found best friend. Heroine. Her walked over to the pot, were they were cooking the black tar drugs, and pouring it into syringes. He smiled at the others, although he didn't even know their names.  
  
"Here man." one of them offered him a syringe of heroine, although it wasn't very full, "it's on the house."  
  
"Thanks..." Brad accepted it, finding a vein in his arm, under all the parchment skin, and injected the vile liquid into his system, "I need to get back to my car.. and go home." He told the truth, it was already 11 am, much later than he had planed on staying. He payed the dealer, picking up what he needed to carry him throw the week, although it wasn't as though he was addicted, yet, he just wanted the high, it was all he had at the time.  
  
Brad began the two hour drive back to Denton, although he was intoxicated, he still drove with care.  
  
I'm a wild and a untamed thing,  
  
I'm a bee with a deadly sting,  
  
These two lines played over in Brad's head, but he didn't know how deadly a sting could be, not that of a bee, but of the transparent syringe that held what he would soon come to depend on. 


	2. A Bee With a Deadly Sting

/A/N/ Please reveiw this.. I've worked really hard to get it to work.. I kept messing up. I know there is only about one author who likes Brad, please read this anyways.. maybe you should only read it if you don't like Brad..Oh yeah.. I couldn't think of any New York rehab centres Brad could afford, so I made one up. oO; I see you shiver with antici..... pation./  
  
  
  
Addiction. It laid it's grasps on Brad long before he would've expected.. but being a regular, clean cut kid from Denton, he knew nothing about narcotics, so he knew not what to expect. But a new world had been opened up to him; with all it's heightened elation, and intoxication. He spent less and less time in Denton.. it reminded him of Janet.. and Frank. He held his knees to his chest, as he sat in his parked car and felt himself shaking, he was in withdrawal.  
  
"Where is he?" He mumbled to himself, surveying the streets for his dealer, his skin crawling in anticipation. His disheveled hair hung in his eyes, making him look purposely rugged. The truth was far from that, but he hid it the best he could.  
  
His body shook, but he saw a dark figure turning the corner. Brad shook still, but tried his hardest to appear normal.. healthy. The thoughts were quite humorous.. him, healthy? Who the hell did he think he was kidding. He glanced down at his arms.. scarred and red. His veins were now visible.. purple and bruised. Thoughts of detox.. or rehab were ever lingering on his conscience.. but he couldn't bother with things like that, and they would make him face reality. Brad sighed, but just then, the figure was beside his car, black trench coat covering him almost completely.  
  
Brad opened the door, letting the man in. He glared at him, snarling like an animal. "What the hell is this? You were supposed to be her forty minutes ago! Fuck!"  
  
"Look.. I was tied up at a club.. it's not important, how much y'want."  
  
Brad still kept his eye on the other, but glanced into his wallet quickly. "I've only got eighty bucks... so gimme that much."  
  
He had never really noticed how his grammar had deteriorated in the last month. But it was understandable.. the only real talking he did was short and unintelligent.. but he had no need for intelligence, only money.  
  
He took the black tar like liquid, and started to prepare it. It was amazing he could even maneuver his hands despite his shaking. The man left his car, glaring at Brad this time.  
  
Minutes seemed like hours in the close confinement of the automobile. He watched the drugs bubble, before letting them cool. He was tired.. he wouldn't go out tonight.. just sleep in his car, waiting for morning to take a hold of the city, before he left.  
  
He didn't intend to use everything he had bought, but in his haste, he poured it all into the syringe. He was shaking, and close to tears. He cried all too much these days.. perhaps it was because he knew he was sentencing himself to an early demise. Perhaps it was because this was Brad Majors, voted most likely to succeed in life in his senior year of high school. He just didn't know.  
  
He injected his arm, and waited for a wave of intoxication to hit him. He smiled slightly as it did, his muscles loosening and the tension the riddled his back seemed to evaporate. Checking to see if he had locked his door; he had not lost all of his sensibility; he climbed into the back seat and slept.  
  
  
  
!----------------------------------------------------!  
  
When Brad awoke, pale blue walls greeted him, as well as a woman robed in light green leaning over him. He glanced around the room. A window. A door. A single flower in a white vase. That was about all. He tried to lift his arm, but he was too weak.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
He woman, looked up, obviously surprised. Her long chestnut hair pulled back into a perfect pony tail, fell over one shoulder, and she tried to pull her glittering crimson lips into a smile. "Hi..." She said, as her white nursing cap fell onto the bed.  
  
She picked it up, before shuffling away, probably to tell a doctor of his recovery. Brad wondered why he was in the hospital, thoughts streaming through his head. He seemed to have all his limbs, and the only thing that was in pain was his head, which throbbed beyond belief. After a few moments the woman returned with a man, holding a clip board, his eyebrows knitted in thought.  
  
"Hello there, Mr.. Major, I'm Dr. Samson. I suppose you're wondering why you've been admitted here."  
  
Brad nodded, even though it took an incredible amount of effort, he didn't want to try to talk.  
  
"You overdosed an heroine forty-eight hours ago.. and you've been admitted to the Sandra Fewsk Rehabilitation center."  
  
Brad cringed... rehab, detox. This is everything he didn't want. Couldn't he just die in peace? The doctor and nurse watched him for a moment, before they walked off, most likely talking about him.  
  
He looked at the ceiling, knowing it would be a sight he would have to grow used to if he was to go through with this crap. 


	3. Get a hit and Your Mind Goes Ping

/A/N/ This chapter's short.. but it serves it's purpose. Only one more chapter, then the epilogue 'til I'm done. As you can probably tell, thing won't get any better for Brad. I don't really care though.. I hate him, but he's so fun to torture through my writing! /  
  
Rehab gave Brad to much time to think. As the moments seemed to ever grow slower, and withdrawal had him near insanity, he reflected on his life a lot. What he had done wrong and such. It sounded like sappy crap, but he was forever unoccupied. Nothing he had ever done had been as hard as this was.  
  
As he thought out his life, he discovered the flaws in American culture. Sexism for one thing. His relationship with Janet was incredibly stereotypical. Apart from maybe his proposition.. that had perhaps been a little off....  
  
"What kind of asshole carries chalk?" He asked himself, staring blankly at the wall he had come to know all too well. The cracks that wove over the plaster seemed to split into as many directions as Brad's life had. Everything he had worked so hard to accomplish... all gone, with not even the slightest mark left in his wake. He had to face it. In ten years, who would remember him? Janet, would, although probably not fondly. Dr. Scott, if he lived much longer, his parents were both dead, and no one else really knew him all that much.  
  
But Brad could not think for long without the events of that mid-November eve springing up to haunt his memories. It was just days short of a year ago, but still fresh in his mind. He could still feel Frank's body against his, and felt no remorse. Looking back on it, if he knew then that his life would become forever imprinted because of that one excursion, he would've probably still gone. The only thing he truly and utterly regretted, was letting Janet slip away. He closed his eyes as a wave of unease swept over him. His body shook, and he could feel tear well up in his eyes. Not this again.. he thought to himself.  
  
He wished he didn't need Janet, he truly did. But she had been is everything all through high school. It was different than your average high school sweet heart. Even though Brad had never been in love before that, he still knew it was the real thing.  
  
"Damnit, Janet, I love you...." He crooned in a roughly but with harmonic undertones. The words he had proposed to her with.. the ones he planned to have in his wedding vows, (although he doubted the church would appreciate him swearing) but those words, were now is only solace.  
  
The air was thick with putrid irony and it almost made him choke to think Janet was probably fucking someone else, right now.  
  
He needed to get out of here.. he didn't know how, but the hospital couldn't be guarded that well. He could get out the back door, even though he might need to climb over the fence. He just needed to get out of here. Fuck detox and rehab, it was his life. He would just end it, nothing more to it.  
  
He stood up and slowly walked out of the room, checking the halls of nurses. It was clear, so he just left. Nothing more to it. 


	4. You're Heart's a Pumpin' and Your Blood ...

/A/N/ This isn't the last chapter. I'll write one more before I'm done with this story. I'm pretty proud of my self. I never really finish stories, but I've been doing pretty well with this one. I like it too, I mean Brad as a junkie. I'm not sure what I was thinking, but I like it. Janet'll have something to do with the story later on. and some more rockyesce action will come into play in this chapter. I hope you like it. if I don't, I'll feel dumb./  
  
The bus ride back to Denton was nerve wracking. Brad was on edge. and in need of a small vial of junk. His veins still pumped blood through his body... but the thrill was gone from this. China white heroin from New York no longer was pumped with it. That was all Brad wanted at the moment. But he had to get home. Weeks had passed since he was last in Denton. He needed to be in a friendly place when he died. He knew he would.  
  
Also. in his closet there was something he had kept well hidden. A corset, suspenders, stilettos, silk panties, gloves and fishnets. Not even Janet had known they were hidden away, washed, and pressed, and ready to be worn. There was only one thing Brad needed before he headed home. Makeup. he stopped at the drug store, ready to buy what he needed.  
  
!---------------------------!  
  
The silence was growing putrid. Brad did not appreciate his isolation. He whistled to himself, wishing it didn't sound so unnatural, but not caring, because no one could hear.  
  
Slowly, he stripped off his clothes, much as Riff Raff and Magenta had that day last year. The thought provoked more musings on that night, and he realized it had been exactly a year. And it was around this time he had asked Janet to marry him.  
  
Brad remembered Ralf and Betty's wedding, and the fact they were still happily married. Why did everyone else seem to love life, and love each other?  
  
He sat naked on the end of his bed, hyperventilating as he thought of his bleak reality. He balled his hands into fists, knuckles cracking, finger nails puncturing the skin. Small, read cresant moons formed on his palms, before they bubbled over, spilling on to the pressed white linen.  
  
Brad's gaze strayed to the closet, and he knew it was time. He would only find closure if he went back to the night it all fell apart. Only then could he accept the fact Janet didn't love him. Even the astral components were in place, the time of the events was nearing. All factors were in place, now he just needed some effort on his part.  
  
He stood up, every muscle in his body screaming at him. He recoiled in pain, since he had not noticed his horrible physical condition. Brad's trembling hands gasped the door knob, pulling open the closet.  
  
After brushing some shirts to the side, there they were. The garments he had not worn for a year, but now stood for everything he was. Delicately, Brad laid them out on the bed, smiling slightly to himself.  
  
He stepped into the panties first, the silk soothing his skin. Next he pulled the sheer gloves on to his arms, admiring the way the muscles looked beneath the thin black material.  
  
His corset was lowered over his head, before he pulled the strings, making it tight against his rib cage. Brad winced with pain as the boning pushed into his flesh.  
  
He attached the suspenders, before pulling on his fishnets. The material stretched over his lean legs, and he thought of the other three matching outfits. They had belonged to Columbia, Rocky and. Janet. Two of them dead. and one of them gone.  
  
Brad looked in the mirror. He only had to apply make up before he was ready for the floorshow. 


	5. So let the Party and the Times Rock on

/A/N/ Muahahaha... I felt like adding an extra chapter before I end this. kill me. or please don't. /  
  
A make shift theatre with silken bed sheets draping from side to side stood in Brad basement. A single light bulb hung from a mere string, hardly illuminating the tiny chamber. Everything was in readiness. It was perfect.  
  
He only wished there was a swimming pool. but he paid no mind since it was just a small detail. This was his tribute to Rocky, Columbia. Frank and even Janet.  
  
This was his salute to that night, one year ago.  
  
Brad clambered behind the curtains, images of that night flashing through his mind. Everyone else who preformed that night may be dead or gone, but he would make it work. He would. That's all he needed to tell him self.  
  
A few minutes passed, and finally he had the courage to utter the words he knew all too well.  
  
"It's beyond me. help me mommy."  
  
Tears stung his eyes, before falling down, along with watery masses of makeup.  
  
"I'll be good, you'll see. take this dream. away,"  
  
Brad had to choke out the last line. It had new meaning now to him. this all seemed like a dream... perhaps it was. He wasn't the type to do all this. or so he had always thought.  
  
"What's this... let's see. I feel...."  
  
He couldn't bring himself to say the last word of the line. He had never felt more unattractive in his life, so why lie? A silent sob wracked his body, and with every shudder they grew louder. Soon he was taken over by the most severe bout of tears he had ever had. There was no point in trying anymore. he knew it was true.  
  
On shaky legs he found his way to the bathroom. Whiteface had run down his cheeks, leaving his pale gray skin vulnerable, and exposed. He screamed at his reflection, and pulled open the medicine cabinet.  
  
A secret stash of heroin. Although, there was no one to keep a secret from, only himself.  
  
Perhaps it was too much for one person to take in one douse. but he would leave that for the paramedics to figure out once someone found his body. 


End file.
